


Simmer Down and Pucker Up

by MajorAccent



Series: Loosely Related Pornstar!AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Porn with the barest minimum of plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorAccent/pseuds/MajorAccent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isaac’s shooting a scene today,” Stiles launches into immediately. “So I need you over here in, like, forty minutes when he leaves.”</p><p>“Why?” Derek asks muzzily, but there’s movement sounding in the background as he gets out of his bed.</p><p>“Because my roommates a dick,” Stiles replies and hangs up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simmer Down and Pucker Up

**Author's Note:**

> There's this massive and extensive porn star AU in my head and this is the only part I've managed to flesh out into something postable instead of something I just scream to my friends about occasionally. OTL
> 
> Title comes from "Do I Wanna Know?" by The Arctic Monkeys.

“What the _fuck_?” Stiles bellows as he comes across the archway to the living room, finding Scott spread between Isaac and Allison’s laps, all of them naked and sweating.  
  
“Stiles!” Isaac yelps, pulling  the blanket off the back of the couch to cover them as Scott scrambles to get off of them.  
  
“That’s my couch,” Stiles continues, unperturbed by Scott trying to unsuccessfully unfold it as Allison crosses her arms to cover her breasts.  
  
“We were going to tell you,” Isaac says, blushing.  
  
“Sorry,” Scott adds on.  
  
Stiles scoffs. “I don’t care about your polyamorous relationship or threesome, or whatever it is,” he raves. “I care that you’re doing it _on my couch_ ,” he explains, waving at the almond-colored sofa. “And that’s my aunt’s quilt.” He throws up his hands angrily, “there’s two other couches in this set up, why’d you have to pick mine?”  
  
The trio collectively cringe, looking ashamed. “We thought you were going to be at Derek’s,” Allison explains as she rearranges the covering.  
  
“I haven’t moved in with him yet,” Stiles replies, still vaguely frowning. “And if I did, that couch wouldn’t be here— _because it’s my couch_.”  
  
“We’ll clean it?” Scott offers.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles nods tersely, walking off. “At the very least.”  
  
—  
  
The phone rings four times before Derek picks up. “Hey?” He greets, tired and sleep rough.  
  
“Isaac’s shooting a scene today,” Stiles launches into immediately. “So I need you over here in, like, forty minutes when he leaves.”  
  
“Why?” Derek asks muzzily, but there’s movement sounding in the background as he gets out of his bed.  
  
“Because my roommates a dick,” Stiles replies and hangs up.  
  
—  
  
Stiles lets him in as soon as Derek knocks, ushering him across the threshold into the apartment.  
  
“So what happened?” He asks, letting Stiles manhandle him and push his jacket off his shoulders.  
  
“Isaac, Allison, and Scott were having sex on my couch,” Stiles answers and pulls him further down the corridor, into the kitchen. “So we’re having sex in here to get back at them,” Stiles declares as he pushes Derek against the counter and cups him through the denim of his jeans.  
  
Derek’s hips buck into the heat without thought, hands coming up to brace against Stiles’ biceps. “ _Really_? That’s what you’re going with?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, still groping and feeling him harden in his palm. “I could force him to move it by himself,” he offers. “But this is passive-aggressive and results in orgasms, so really isn’t sex in my kitchen a better option?”  
  
“Is it still your kitchen?” Derek asks, letting Stiles reach down to pop the button and tug his zipper down.  
  
Stiles snorts a laugh. “Technically, for the next six days it is,” he says against the thin skin of Derek’s collar bone as he tugs his cock out of the confines of his briefs, jerking in a quick, tight grip. “But I’m more interested in putting the island to use,” he huffs out, slotting a thigh between Derek’s legs to brush against his balls.  
  
"You want me to fuck you on it?" He questions stiffly, bracing against the counter to watch as Stiles lets go to lick his palm, getting a wetter hold around his shaft. "I don’t have lube or condoms."  
  
"Back pocket," Stiles answers, using his free hand to get at the fastening of his pants until Derek knocks it away and does it for him, already reaching back for the bottle and wrapper.  
  
"Turn around for me?" Derek requests, nudging Stiles toward the island behind them. "Want to open you with my mouth first."  
  
"Fuck—please," Stiles complies quickly, shoving his jeans and underwear to his knees before he braces his forearms against the granite and spreads his thighs for Derek.  
  
He licks a line up from his balls to his opening, dragging the flat of his tongue across it until Stiles whines and shoves back, trying to get more as his head thunks down onto the counter. “Needy,” Derek mutters, amused as he nips at the left of Stiles’ cheeks and flicks the tip of his tongue inside.  
  
"Motherfucker," Stiles grunts, feeling himself leaking steadily from the head of his cock. "You don’t have to—fucking," he keens, going high-pitched and breathy when Derek holds him open with his thumbs to spit directly into him. "Derek," he chokes out from above, hand reaching to fist at his hair and force his face closer to his ass as he clenches on the digits. "More," he commands and feels the slide of two fingers in, already drenched with the lube. "Yeah," he sighs out, pumping his hips back to fuck himself on Derek’s hand.  
  
"You could come like this," Derek mutters, reaching down to push the straining denim and cotton down Stiles’ calves, low enough so he can push his thigh up to get a knee on the brink of the countertop, holding him open and exposed. "Just from my fingers," he continues over the strangled noise Stiles makes at the stretch and change in angle. Derek wrenches his wrist, adds another, and bites at a cheek—worrying a red mark on his sit spot that’ll flush up purple later.  
  
Stiles makes a needy, sobbing sound, hand still buried in Derek’s hair, scratching at his scalp. “Please,” he begs, trying to fuck back without leverage, fighting to stay upright. “Derek,” Stiles stutters and breathes, feeling him lick around his fingers and making him cinch tight. “Wanna come,” he gasps, moans as Derek presses hard and deliberate on his prostate, making his thighs shake. “Fuck,” he grits out, debauched and wrecked, “ _please_.”  
  
Derek huffs a laugh, tugging his fingers free, watching Stiles’ hole gape and clench, beg to be filled. “Yeah,” he nods, levering up to tear the foil open and roll the condom down before he presses the head of his cock in. He reaches around, arm caged around Stiles’ ribs to get a hold on his clavicle, using the hold to pull Stiles back into his thrust.  
  
"Shit," Stiles groans, dragging out the vowel as he feels Derek’s hips go flush against his, bottomed out before he pulls back just as slow.  
  
"Stiles," Derek prompts, sliding in again. He reaches up and under, palming the underside of Stiles’ chin as his fingertips press into the bone of his jaw to encourage him to look over his shoulder. “Arms up,” he commands, nudging with his chin until Stiles obeys and moves to grip the opposite end of the counter.  
  
Stiles whimpers, the sound rumbling against Derek’s chest. “Fasterfasterfaster,” he commands in a chant until Derek follows through, punching forward in hard jabs, hand tightening around his throat and stifling the noise Stiles makes when Derek  reaches down to drag his thumb against his perineum and up to his rim.  
  
“There,” Stiles croaks, slapping his hand back to find Derek’s hip and grip the cotton of his t-shirt to keep the angle as he fucks in.  
  
Derek leans forward, grinding in. “Want me to touch you?” He asks into Stiles’ ear as he takes a hold of Stiles’ cock where it’s leaking, pressed against the wood paneling. Giving a loose stroke, pressing the pad of his finger into his frenulum until Stiles makes a wounded noise; eyes squeezed shut as his mouth drops open to exhale raggedly.   
  
“Need—” Stiles breathes, raw and strung-out when Derek tightens his fist and gives him friction to rock into, hot and fast. “God,” he whimpers out, head dropping down. Derek levers back up, releasing Stiles’ neck to brace around his shoulder, letting him suck in bigger lungfuls. “Fuck, m’gonna come,” he heaves warningly around a  low whine as his thighs jolt and his back arches as his cock jerks and drenches Derek’s hand in spunk. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he groans, keeping his hold on the counter as he slumps.  
  
Derek grunts, forehead pressed between Stiles’ shoulder blades. “Close,” he warns, panting wetly against his neck as his thrusts go harried. His hips work in tight circles, working into Stiles as he hums.  
  
Stiles reaches up, clamping his hand at Derek’s nape. “C’mon,” he goads, voice still wrecked. He shifts, dropping his leg back down to thrust back into Derek’s next punch forward, meeting and hastening his rhythm.  
  
“Yeah, just—” Derek stutters, shoving in deep before he stills, biting into the collar of Stiles’ shirt to muffle a groan. He moves, bracketing Stiles’ ribcage with his forearms, still breathing heavily.  
  
“Mission accomplished,” Stiles says from under him, raising a hand to twirl his finger lazily.  
  
Derek snorts and eases out of him, holding the base of his cock. “I’m assuming you have a plan for this?” He asks, pinching the tip of the condom and pulling it off.  
  
Stiles nods, rolling his shoulders back, spine popping to realign before he steps out of his jeans and briefs. “You know me so well,” he teases and points toward the trash bin. “Knot it and just put it on top,” he directs as he rips off a paper towel, wiping down the cabinet where he came. “Isaac’s got trash duty this week.”  
  
“Best roommate ever,” Derek mutters as he tosses the condom on top of an old paper plate.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “It’s not like we fucked in his bed,” he contends, watching Derek tuck himself back in. “I want a shower before we cuddle,” Stiles prompts, already heading toward the bathroom without looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> And [this](http://matriarchales.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr if you feel like yelling at me.


End file.
